


Coming Home

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Short & Sweet, light kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Aziraphale decides that his friend's flat needs some miraculous redecorating.  Crowley does not approve -- or does he?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	Coming Home

Aziraphale had been appalled when he’d first seen Crowley’s flat. So stark, cold, dark and unlike anything one could possibly consider a _home_.

He hadn’t said anything at the time because they were both rather preoccupied with figuring out Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy. But he thought about it a good deal afterwards, and decided that he simply could not allow his dear friend to live that way.

Of course, he knew he wouldn’t be able to convince Crowley to make any changes through argument or suggestion or persuasion. No, the direct approach was the only one that might succeed.

Little by little, bit by bit, he would wear the fellow down until he realized what a _real_ home should be, whether he liked it or not.

Mostly, he imagined, _not_.

The phone call he got the morning of his first miraculous effort was not entirely unexpected, nor was the tone of exasperation.

“ _Angel_.”

“Yes? Something amiss?”

“There is a _rug_ in my living room.”

“Is there?” Of course there was. He’d put it there.

“It’s thick. It’s plush. It has _roses_ on it.”

“Why, that sounds positively lovely. How nice for you.” It was, in fact, an exact duplicate of the area rug in his own sitting room upstairs.

“Angel.” Definite notes of displeasure now.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Don’t you _my dear_ me! You put it here!”

“Possibly.”

“ _Possibly?_ _Humans_ do not go around sneaking area rugs into the flats of total strangers in the middle of the night!”

“Well, _I_ certainly didn’t do anything of the kind, either.”

“I know you didn’t! You snapped your angelic fingers and here it is! _Why?”_

“To make the floor there more comfortable to walk on, of course, and to make your living room more attractive. I should think that would be obvious.”

“ _It has roses on it_.”

“Yes, as I said – _attractive_.” Aziraphale thought Crowley was being awfully unappreciative. “Is it comfortable?”

There was a telling pause. “Ngk….”

“It’s one hundred per cent wool, one inch thick. I know how you like to dispense with footwear when you’re lounging on sofas. It will cushion your bare feet, yes?”

Another too-long hesitation. “Er…mmph…maybe.”

“Of course it will. Don’t simply miracle it away – give it a chance.”

“You might have _asked_ me first if I wanted one.”

“I suppose so, but what would you have said, hm? Now, don’t be irksome, my dear fellow. Are we lunching today?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be by, usual time.”

“Good.”

“Fine. And _no more surprise home decorating_ , got it?”

“I’ll see you at lunchtime. Goodbye!” He hung up before he could make any promises that he did not plan to keep.

The next phone call came two days later after Aziraphale’s next miraculous redecorating effort.

“ _What_ did you do to my throne chair?”

“You mean that ostentatious one with the hard seat?”

“It’s _gone_ ,” Crowley said. “There’s an overstuffed armchair there now!”

Precisely like the one in his sitting room upstairs. “Very relaxing, isn’t it?”

Crowley made a series of unintelligible sounds, and then said, “It’s _paisley_.”

“Yes, but is it _comfortable?”_

A long silence followed.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well, is it?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s comfortable. That’s not the point!”

“Isn’t it? I should think that having an enjoyable place to live is _precisely_ the point.”

“No! The point _is_ , you’re going around changing things in _my flat_.”

“Yes, because I want you to be more comfortable there.”

“What made you think I _wasn’t?”_

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Well, I mean really. How could _anyone_ enjoy being around concrete and steel and black walls all the time?”

“I’m not there all the time – I just water the plants and sleep there.”

“So I noticed.” Aziraphale smiled to himself. “And where do you spend most of your time, then?”

Crowley’s voice sounded a bit tetchy. “In that bloody bookshop of yours, that’s where.”

“And _why_ do you do that?”

“Because it’s –“ Another lengthy pause. “Because it’s comfortable there.”

“Ah. As I thought. So I am merely trying to add a little bit of that comfort to your place. You don’t _really_ mind, do you?”

“That depends on what’s next.”

“Hm. I was thinking perhaps some nice curtains. Maybe a new wall paint color – the one in my living space upstairs is called _Parchment_. Very relaxing shade.”

“Parchment. You want to make the walls _beige?”_

“A bookcase or two wouldn’t hurt, either. And a few antique side tables with reading lamps – something with fringed Victorian shades.”

“Angel—“

“Also I find that a landscape painting can brighten up the space above the fireplace. Something along the lines of Constable, perhaps?”

“Aziraphale—“

“And of course, you’ll need an _etagere_ or two for your knickknack collections. With fretwork sides.” It all sounded ever so lovely, and so much like his own rooms. 

_“No.”_

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I thought you liked the rug and the chair.”

“I like the bloody rug and I like the damned chair!”

“Then I really don’t see the problem, my dear.”

Crowley sighed. “ _No beige_.”

“Right. Got it. See you for lunch today?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time.” The phone clicked as Crowley hung up.

Aziraphale rubbed his hands together happily. He was making a lovely home for his friend – whether he wanted it or not.

The very next day Aziraphale waited for the inevitable phone call, which came at nine a.m.

“Really, Angel?”

“You don’t like it?” He rather thought Crowley did.

“I don’t even know what it’s called. All I know is that it’s _yellow and white_.”

“It’s called an _afghan_. Very warm, I should think, for when you’re sitting on that overstuffed sofa – you didn’t mention the sofa, my dear.”

“Don’t you _my dear_ me! The sofa is _green velvet_.”

Of course it was – precisely the same as the one he owned upstairs. As was the afghan. “They go rather well together, I believe. Tell me, where are you sitting right now?”

“Ngk.” 

“Crowley?”

After a few more muttering sounds, he replied, “On the damn sofa.”

“Is the rug still there?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, either it is or it isn’t. Make up your mind.’’

“Yeah, it’s still here, and so is the armchair. Happy?”

“Delighted.”

“Angel, this stuff looks a bit familiar to me – and I think I know why.”

Aziraphale considered this, and realized that Crowley _had_ seen his sitting room before. “Possibly.”

“You’re not moving _your things_ into _my flat_ , are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am doing no such thing.”  
“Then what exactly is going on here?”

“Just a friendly gift or two – are we lunching today?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pick you up at the usual time.”

“See you then!” 

Aziraphale released a little sigh of pleasure. No, he wasn’t moving his things over – merely duplicating them. Crowley liked it here in his bookshop. He always enjoyed spending hours and hours here, day after day, so he obviously liked Aziraphale’s décor choices. Why shouldn’t he enjoy them in his own flat?

No harm in it, was there? 

He really ought to do something about those black walls next.

A few days later, Crowley did not telephone. He turned up in person, striding into the bookshop with a determined look on his face. After shooing out the lone customer and turning the CLOSED sign over, he stormed over to the desk, where Aziraphale sat enjoying a cup of cocoa.

“Angel.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“The walls of my flat are _blue_.”

“I know. It’s called _Robin’s Egg_. Delightful shade.”

Crowley crossed his arms. “It’s LIGHT BLUE!”

“I do prefer parchment, but you said you didn’t want beige. The blue goes well with the new drapes, don’t you think?”

He watched the various expressions flick across his friend’s features: annoyance, perplexity, resignation. 

Crowley uncrossed his arms and rubbed both hands over his face. Then he dropped his hands by his side and sighed. 

“I figured out what’s going on. It’s _your_ place.”

“Hm? Whatever do you mean?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.” Crowley plucked the mug of cocoa from Aziraphale’s hand and put it aside. He pulled him up out of the chair and led him upstairs, unprotesting, to the sitting area. 

“Look around.”

Aziraphale gazed at his beloved sitting room with its plush wool area rug, its overstuffed green velvet sofa, the overstuffed armchairs, the beige walls that would probably be even better if they were light blue, the drapes, the bookcases, the knickknacks – everything that made this space a perfect home.

“ _Well?”_ Crowley stood there beside him. “What do you see?”

“I see a very comfortable place.”

“And do you know what _I_ see?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“ _My flat_.”

“Ah. Shouldn’t it be perfectly natural to use my own tastes to decorate your home? Getting more comfortable every day, then, is it?”

Crowley groaned. He walked over to the overstuffed sofa and sank into it. “I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale sat down beside him. “You’ll be so much happier in a place that looks like this.”

Crowley looked at him with a curious mix of exasperation and affection. He fingered the yellow-and-white afghan. “Angel, if you wanted me to be happy in a place that looks exactly like yours, why didn’t you just ask me to move in here? Would have been a lot easier.”

“Oh.” The idea had not actually occurred to him, but now that his dear friend mentioned it, everything that he had done over the past week fell neatly into place. _“Oh.” Was that what was going on deep in his own mind?_

“Yeah, _oh_. If you were trying to send me a message, I got it. Loud and clear.”

“Well, I didn’t really intend—“ He broke off as he saw the questioning expression on Crowley’s face. He could hardly admit that the notion hadn’t crossed his mind. “I mean, would you really _want_ to move in here?” 

It may have been a subconscious thought on his part, but now that it had reached the surface, Aziraphale knew it was a perfectly wonderful idea.

Crowley quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

He put his hand on Crowley’s thigh. “My dear, all I truly wanted was for you to have a pleasant home. But if it still doesn’t suit, then there is always a home for you here.”

Crowley placed a hand on top of his. “The flat is a lot more comfortable now, I’ll admit that.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “It isn’t a _home_ , though – not without you there.”

Aziraphale brought Crowley’s hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “And _this_ is not a true home without _you_ here. Please say you’ll move in?”

Crowley smiled. “I might as well.” He leaned in to lightly kiss Aziraphale on the lips.

He returned the touch with enthusiasm, dropping Crowley’s hand in order to wrap his arms around him in a tender embrace. 

“Ah,” Crowley said after a while, “that was nice.”

“It was indeed.”

“Love you, Angel.” Crowley kissed his forehead, then raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale touched his cheek. “A million times yes. I love you, too.” 

“Good.” Crowley relaxed against him, just holding him, just caressing him lightly. “ _Good_.”

Aziraphale settled into the embrace, wanting to stay like this for a long, long time. “I always did plan to add a houseplant or two to this room.”

“Did you now?” Crowley grinned. “So you actually liked at least _one_ part of my flat’s décor, then?”

“Possibly.”

“Either you did or you didn’t, Angel.”

“Well, yes. I did.” Aziraphale nestled against Crowley’s chest, feeling more comfortable than ever. “The Mona Lisa is rather nice, too.” 

“That’s good, because it’s coming over here.” Crowley brushed his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“I can find the perfect place for it.”

“I know you can.” Crowley tilted Aziraphale’s chin up to kiss him once more. 

When their lips parted, Aziraphale tightened his embrace, let out a deep sigh, and whispered into Crowley’s ear.

“Welcome home, my dear.”


End file.
